


Prologue

by onvavoir



Series: Triskelion [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://mamalaz.tumblr.com/post/98396127592/the-avengers-as-a-western-steve-is-the-sheriff">this post</a>. Yet another WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

Steve sat across from the sheriff, playing poker for matchsticks in the little shack that passed for a county jail. Outside in the dry heat of the day, the dust from coaches and horses rose and hung in the air, suspended, to settle on clothes and hair and in unwary lungs. 

"Call," Steve said.

Fury pushed another three matchsticks across the table. The one in the corner of his mouth twitched. Steve shook his head. He laid down his cards-- two tens, the ace of clubs, a trey of diamonds, and the eight of hearts. No match for Fury's three queens.

"I win again."

"I never could bluff worth a damn."

The scars around the sheriff's eyepatch crinkled up as he grinned and hauled in his winnings. Steve eyed him. He wouldn't have put it past Fury to cheat at cards, even if the stakes were just the matches they kept in a box in his desk. Sheriff Fury didn't like to lose.

"Another hand?" Fury asked.

"No, I think I'm done. Need to stretch my legs."

Steve stood up and reached overhead, then picked up his hat from the table and set it on his head. He stepped outside onto the porch to have a look around. Quiet day. Gone well past the heat that made people ornery and into just too hot to move. It was cooler inside, but only just. He peered down the main street into the distance.

Up the long straight road north, heralded by a plume of dust, a stagecoach rolled towards town. It might have been three miles away or ten. The heat mirages messed with a man's perception of distance. Steve watched it, eyes narrowed against the setting sun, until it disappeared behind the furthest flung buildings of town.

A short while later the coach pulled up in front of the Tower, where a newly-pasted poster announced the run of a play called _The Black Widow_. Fury had come to join Steve on the porch, and the two of them watched the door to the coach swing open. The driver handed down a woman dressed in widow's weeds.

Steve looked her over. The cut of her clothes and the LV on her trunks indicated someone a little too cosmopolitan to be performing in this town. Pinned up beneath her black hat and veil was a flash of red hair. She turned to look at them and smiled in a way that did not suggest she was in mourning. Steve tipped his hat, and then the lady and her luggage and her secret smile went into the Tower. 

"I'm guessing she's the Black Widow," Steve said.

"Nothing gets by you, does it?"

The sheriff's boot steps retreated indoors and left Steve alone with his curiosity. 


End file.
